This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.
The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/GN0515_ on 2024-09-21 00:05:06+00:00.
BEEP
BEEP
BEEP
I was barely awake, still nursing my first cup of coffee, when I heard a monotonous noise outside. The garbage doesn't run this early, nor was I expecting a delivery. I leaned back into my leather couch, taking a sip of my favorite medium brew.
The noise persisted with an annoying beep, sounding closer by. Curiosity finally got the better of me. I peeked outside to see if a truck was backing into my driveway, albeit clumsily.
"What the hell is this?" I asked as I rushed to the front door. Forgetting I was wearing a wrinkled gray shirt and jogging shorts, I stepped outside to find a battered delivery truck. Its green paint was cracking, and rust was peeking through. The beeping continued as I stood there, puzzled.
The truck continued to back up, crushing my shrubbery. I darted to the driver's side, shouting, "Stop the truck!" It screeched to a halt, the engine rattling and the exhaust sounding like a gunshot.
The door rattled open, and a short, stocky man with a full beard, dressed in flannel and dark cargo pants, hopped down. His feet thudded on the concrete driveway. "How are you doing this morning?" he asked.
"Fine, at least better than my shrub," I complained as he walked towards the back of the truck, releasing the lever. It rattled and crunched from its rusted chains and bent frame. "So what is this?"
"It's a delivery," he replied, pulling out the ramp. He trudged up the ramp, heavy-footed, the metal thumping and thudding as he ascended into the truck. I walked over to see the truck was almost empty, except for a long, heavily taped box that looked ragged and damaged.
"I'm not expecting a delivery," I noted, hearing the sound of wheels from a pallet jack banging against the floor of the truck. The box began to lift a few inches from the ground as the delivery driver turned to face me, pulling the jack like a horse pulling a carriage. "Especially not a larger delivery."
"Well, this is the address I'm supposed to bring it to."
"What is it?"
"I'm just the delivery driver. I just pick stuff up and drop things off."
He rolled the box down the ramp on the pallet jack. "Can I see the invoice?" I asked. As he paused and secured the pallet jack, he shuffled over to the truck. After a brief search, he returned with a couple of crumpled papers.
The invoice listed my name, correct address, and simply said "package." I was still puzzled, especially when I saw the words "DSM Fulfillment," a company I had never heard of. "This is the address and you are the person on the invoice, right?"
I nodded. "It looks like it, but I didn't order anything."
He stepped next to me and pointed to the bottom of the invoice, where it showed that the order had already been paid for. "Listen, if you have any questions, just call that number and they'll sort it out," he said. "I've come back to some of these places to pick up packages for returns."
"Alright," I answered, examining the box and wondering what could be inside. "I have no idea where to put it, though."
"Listen, I'm paid per delivery, so I don't have time to sort all of this out," he huffed. He looked around the house and saw the two-door garage. "How about you put it in there while you figure this out?"
"Alright, but expect to be back in the coming days," I said as I walked over to the garage and pressed a button. The door opened, revealing the bare concrete, organized shelves, and other items I stored there. "Put it over there, close to the door to the house," I directed.
The man began pulling the mystery box, placing it gently next to the door as requested before digging through his pockets for a pen, “Do you mind signing this real quick?” he requested, as he handed over a pen that looked dirty.
“Sure,” I said as I winced a bit from grabbing on to it, quickly signing to get it out of my hand. I scribbled a signature hastily and crudely before handing it back over to him. As I turned back to the box, pondering the contents that laid inside.
"Alright, then, if you have any concerns, just call the number," he stated, pulling apart the invoice and handing me a yellow copy that looked even more thrashed than the one I had just signed. I watched as he loaded the pallet jack and closed to door. He let out a wave as he walked off and jumped into his truck, it struggled to start, misfiring loudly again before he pulled away.
I looked over the box again before heading into the house, pulling out a pair of scissors from the drawer and returning to the garage. Quietly, I debated whether to open the box or just call the number, but curiosity, as it does with most people, got the best of me.
I sat on my knees and began cutting the massive amounts of tape from the corners, before working my way to the flaps. I cut down the middle, but the scissors struggled with the amount of adhesive coming from the tape. Finally, I said to hell with it and started ripping at the cardboard, seeing a large dark object inside. As I pulled both flaps open, feeling the cardboard bend and tear, I exclaimed, "What the hell is this?" stunned by the contents inside.
A coffin.
I stood up seeing a beat up and dented coffin lying inside the remains of the box. Was it a threat? Who sent this to me? I reached into my pocket pulling out the copy of the invoice as I walked quickly to my living room, grabbing my phone from the coffee table.
I scanned the paper for the number, my fingers fumbling and trembling as I punched in the digits incorrectly. After a few tries, I heard the phone ring. What felt like an eternity later, a female voice crackled as I put the phone on speaker. "DSM Fulfillment, how can I help you?"
"Yes, I received a package from you today," I said weakly. As I looked out the window again, checking for anything unusual, I added, "I didn't order a package from you guys."
"What's the invoice number?" she asked, sounding annoyed. I looked over at the paper, trying to find it.
"What does that matter? I didn't order a damn package and I want to return it!"
"Sir, this will go much faster if you just give me the invoice number."
I slowly read the number: "V0UGS05PVYBXSEFUIFlPVSBETW." As I spoke, I heard a strange noise coming from somewhere nearby. The sound of splashing became distinct as I walked around to find the source. "Can you hold on a second?"
The sound grew louder. It was coming from the kitchen. As I looked over, I saw water from the faucet pounding the marble sink. I didn't remember leaving the sink on, I thought to myself. Turning to see the garage entrance, I noticed the door was wide open.
"Sir, I have other calls," the voice on the phone said as I walked into the garage. The box was further tattered on the floor, but something else stood out even more: the coffin was open.
"What the hell is going on?"
“Sir, are you still there, the name I have here is—” I heard before felt hard plastic rubbing harshly on my neck, I remember briefly, the white color and indentation on it, it looked like a power cord.
–
I coughed loudly, my eyes blurred with tears, and my mouth dry. The smell in the room: rancid and lingering. I looked up to see a pair of bare feet stained with brown and red. I tried to move but both my arms and legs felt bound as I looked down to see a familiar white from the power cord tied. It mumbled while my eyes began to focus.
“Three more times, the garbage hits the dump. Three more times, then it’s over. Three more times, then I get to go home.”
I looked up to see a man, heavily disheveled, his hair matted in tangles and grime. His beard was equally unkempt. He wore dark coveralls stained with the grime that mirrored the marks on his feet leaving tracks on my living room floor. “Three more, Robbie, just three more,” he muttered.
“Take what you want, I have money and jewelry upstairs,” I shouted as he paced the room, grumbling incoherently. I squirmed with each step he took. “Listen, you look rough, man. I have some drugs that might help take the edge off? You can have them if you just leave.”
He turned, his eyes wild like an animal’s, and stomped over to me. “What did you do?” he yelled, kneeling down and looking me directly in the eye. I continued to struggle, writhing like a worm on my own floor.
“What the hell are you talking about?” I stammered as he came closer, looking at me. He had heavy bags under his eyes, his breath smelled awful, and he was trembling. “Just take what you want, man.”
“WHAT DID YOU FUCKING DO!” he shouted, grabbing a handful of my hair and pulling me up slightly. He continued to stare at me with his eyes locked directly with mine.
"I don't know what you're talking about!" I cried out. As he released me and began pacing frantically, I looked down at my legs and saw that the power cord I was tied with was loosening.
"They don't send me here unless you deserve it," he yelled loudly. "That's how this works!"
"How do you know I deserve it?"
"Because I wouldn't be here if you didn't deserve it!"
"I don't understand."
"The coffin, they send the coffin to people who deserve it!"
"You were in the coffin!" I shouted back. He continued walking back and forth, this time slapping himself in the face. I continued to slowly wiggle my leg, feeling the cord slipping. "What are you going to do?"
"What do I have to do?" he shrieked, a tear rolling down his cheek. I realized he wasn't a professional killer or a crazy murderer. He was desperate.
"How long were you in that coffin?" I asked, trying to show empathy. His sobbing intens...
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